I Don't Take Second Place
by leakingrainbows
Summary: [Oneshot] Draco’s father pressures him to marry a Pureblood, but what happens when he falls in love with exactly the opposite? A mudblood Hermione. When he gives up on her, someone who has loved her for a long time finally gets the courage to speak up.


**Disclaimer: **I do not own Harry Potter.

This is for a competition (Fanfiction #1) at Final Prophecy.

**I Don't Take Second Place**

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Draco had a duty – a duty to his family and to the Malfoy bloodline. He had to marry a pureblood. It was a non-negotiable tradition. It was simply not something one could reason with. It just _was_ how things went, and it had been from the start of the pure and noble bloodline. If it meant losing _her_, then so be it. He had to follow his father's orders. No matter how deeply he cared for her, he knew he could not possibly throw away everything he had learnt about honouring the Malfoy name, just for one insignificant little… mudblood.

He squeezed his eyes shut and sucked in a breath. He _had_ to do it. A pure bloodline was top priority for the proud and pure Malfoys. Draco was well aware of the rule; it had been branded into him since childhood. If any Malfoy should fail to keep the bloodline of Malfoy untainted, then the Malfoy _must_ die, if only for the sake of blood purity.

By taking a fancy for, let alone loving, a muggle-born, he would be the first to bring shame to the family name. It was his obligation to love a pureblood girl who could appropriately sustain the purity of the Malfoy ancestry, someone like Pansy. Draco bowed his head in resignation. He had no other choice but to start his struggle to love the pug-faced Parkinson. He tried to ignore the burning in his chest as thoughts of a teary Hermione filtered through his mind.

/\\//\\//\\//\\//\\//\\//\\//\\//\\//\\/

After an exhausting search, Draco finally noticed Hermione wandering around the corridors of Hogwarts and strode purposefully towards her. "Hermione, I have to talk to you."

He grabbed her hand forcefully in his bigger one and yanked her to a corner. Dazed, Hermione stumbled behind him, hurt emotionally and physically by his violence.

"Hermione, I'm sorry… I – I don't love you. I truly don't." Draco mumbled roughly, keeping his eyes trained on the wall past her head.

"What? Draco – what?" Hermione asked waveringly, uncertainty and bafflement dancing in her eyes.

"_I don't love you_," courage mustered, Draco repeated it loudly, menacingly. He kept his hands clasped painfully behind his back so that she would not see how they trembled. Something throbbed excruciatingly where he knew his heart to be.

Draco regarded her tentative, almost grieved countenance and felt sure he had to tone it up. He narrowed his eyes nastily at her and shoved her brutally away from him. He whipped his head away, he couldn't let her see how it killed him to see her so anguished. Draco spun around and stalked away, leaving her cowering alone in the shadowy corner, terrified and bewildered by the horrible turn of events.

The break-up was done. Draco clenched his fists by his side and gritted his teeth, repressing the ache in the hollow of his chest. There was just one more thing he had to do, and he was marching reluctantly towards it. He had to get Pansy back.

/\\//\\//\\//\\//\\//\\//\\//\\//\\//\\/

After he and Hermione had become an item, Draco had pushed Pansy away and had continuously given her the cold shoulder. She had been mean to Hermione, not being able to get over the fact that Draco had dropped her for a mudblood, and she had been devastated by the fact. Draco's robes swished around his feet as he strutted through the dimness; he was certain she would take him back.

He found her later sitting alone in the Slytherin Common Room. A mischievous smile curved his lips and he fought to chip away at any telling sign of half-heartedness. Pansy might not be Hermione-smart, but she was good at reading him.

Draco made his way across the Common Room, stopping when he was crouched over the back of the green armchair she had sunk into. "Pansy, baby," he whispered into her ear seductively. His eyes were closed not out of pleasure but out of a certain nagging pain.

Oblivious, Pansy jumped up with a grin. Her over-glossed lips were stretched into a wide, ecstatic grin. "Draco! Draco, Draco!" she breathed, flinging herself onto him. Tears were trickling down her cheeks in trails of smudged mascara.

"I knew you'd come back to me sooner or later, baby," she murmured, pulling herself off him while admonishing herself mentally for the sudden loss of control. She acted blasé now, kissed him chastely, and peered expectantly up at him. It was his turn to make a move now.

Draco knew the look she was giving him, and he knew it meant that they were together again. It was a look that told him they were dancing now, dancing around each other, so that Pansy could prove herself again.

He had been right about her taking him back. He had been so right. He offered her his arm gallantly and swept off with her hanging onto him, his eyes determinedly averted from the lovesick smile she now wore.

/\\//\\//\\//\\//\\//\\//\\//\\//\\//\\/

Later at lunch, Draco was seated at the Slytherin table, Pansy perched gleefully beside him. Draco paused in his eating to take a dignified sip of water and put on his customary lazy smirk. Since he had gotten together with Hermione, the satisfied smirk had not been put to much use, but with him now dating Pansy and trying to salvage the Malfoy name, the smirk had to be put back into action.

Draco ran his eyes languidly over the Slytherin table, noting the respectful glances that some threw his way. It had been a long time since he had stopped to see what others thought of him, and he was unsure if the respect had been there even while he and Hermione had been together or was only because he had recently hooked up with Pansy. Whatever it was, Draco decided, he had to stay with Pansy and uphold Malfoy family honour.

Just as he had strengthened his resolve, he felt Pansy hesitantly take hold of his hand underneath the table in a loving gesture that only served to make him feel queerly uneasy. His eyes lost their happy glint and his contented smile faltered fractionally. He kicked himself angrily, desperate and frustrated at his sudden disinclination.

He had to test himself. He had to know if he really loved Pansy, or if he was just trying to so that he would not shame the family.

Draco twisted around to look at the girl beside him. "Pansy," he called, eliciting an interested noise of reply from her as she turned to face him, beaming at him adoringly.

Draco took a deep breath and began haltingly, "Pansy, I love – " He stopped. The last two words had brought a flash of a memory to his mind, a memory he thought he had long forgotten.

"_Hermione," Draco prodded her exasperatedly, "Hermione!"_

"_Yeah?" Hermione blinked at him curiously, shutting her book gently and placing it on the table._

_Draco stepped towards her and wrapped his arms around her, "I… love you." He pressed his lips affectionately to her ear._

_Hermione giggled at the ticklish feeling Draco's action had produced and turned to hug him, her head resting gingerly on his shoulder. His arms still encircled around her, the pair was silent._

Draco regained his senses, shaking himself out of his trancelike state, and ended his sentence unthinkingly, " – Hermione."

Pansy reared back, betrayal shining in her eyes. "What? Draco – what?" she hissed. Draco chose to ignore how familiar it sounded.

He averted his gaze resolutely and quietly said, "Pansy… I love _Hermione_."

Tears filled Pansy's eyes, this time not tears of relief as before. The hand that she had previously raised in malice dropped limply to her side. "Why? _Why_ do you love _her_ so much? Why did you come back to me then?" It all culminated in a final, distraught: "_What does she have that I don't_?"

Draco turned away and refused to answer the tearful, almost pleading questions.

There was no anger in Pansy, only a deep well of echoing sadness. She couldn't understand Draco's sudden change of heart, no matter how much she wanted to. She stood up with a clatter and fled the Hall, her shoulders wracked with silent sobs.

/\\//\\//\\//\\//\\//\\//\\//\\//\\//\\/

Draco stood up and strode out of the Great Hall. He had to go in search of Hermione – yet again.

Draco saw Hermione walking in the direction of the Gryffindor Common Room and increased the pace of his strides to catch up to her quick, measured steps.

"Hermione!" he called after her when it was clear he would not catch up to her before she disappeared around the corner. "_Hermione_!"

Hermione spun and caught sight of her ex-boyfriend chasing after her. Remembered hurt glimmered in her eyes as she snarled scathingly, "Oh, it's _you_. What _do_ you want now?"

Draco felt his hope crumbling even as he got down on his knees, clasping his hands in front of him in a desperate gesture of sincerity. "Hermione – I am really sorry for breaking up with you and letting you down like that. It took me a while to realise that it's _you_ I really love and not… Pansy. I couldn't even tell her that I love her because it wasn't true.

"Hermione, truly, the only reason that I broke up with you was – was because I was a coward. I was afraid of my father, of what he would say when he realises that I'm in love with a – with a muggle-born. My father… you wouldn't understand, Hermione… My father wants me to be with a Pureblood, like Pansy, so that any heir of the Malfoy name would have _pure blood_. Please believe me, Hermione, I really love you. I'm sorry."

Hermione stiffened at his words. Her stare hardened as anger thundered in her. She spoke with a quiet, steely fury, as she restrained herself from launching at the boy she had loved and bruising up his pale, pointed face.

"I'm sorry too, Draco. But you know me, and you should have known a long time ago that I don't take second place. I won't take second place behind your father, Draco, and I've found someone else." Hermione paused, her eyes flickered close, and she continued, "I _don't_ take second place, and especially not if your fear of your father is bigger than what we _had_ between us."

Harry had been waiting in front of them, shrouded in his Invisibility Cloak. He took it off and came to stand supportively behind Hermione as she opened her eyes and carried on, "Harry, too, has loved me. He's loved me longer than you have, Draco, and he put _my_ happiness before his. He thought I was happy with you, so Harry, dear, selfless Harry, kept agonisingly quiet. _I_ thought I was happy, too…"

Hermione swiped almost angrily at the tears that spilled down her cheeks. "But it was an illusion. A figment of my imagination. My wishful thinking. If you'd loved me… you wouldn't have put me behind your notions of blood purity." Hermione made as if to put a hand on his shoulder but pulled back an instant before. "Goodbye, Draco. _I don't take second place_."

The pair walked off then, leaving Draco stunned and speechless on his knees, just like Draco had left Hermione standing alone in the corner.

/\\//\\//\\//\\//\\//\\//\\//\\//\\//\\/

Draco staggered into Hogsmeade and threw himself into a seat in the Hog's Head. He called for a butterbeer; the bartender passed him one over the table promptly. Draco swigged half of it down in one go.

Dully he wondered if he could still remember the cause of all his pain and heartache. A sardonic smile played on his lips. Of course he could. Images of Hermione, Hermione, _Hermione_ flashed across his mind, wrapping themselves around his thoughts. He spat a mouthful of butterbeer out and wiped the back of his hand across his mouth.

"It's – not – good – _ENOUGH_!" His words had started out as a slur but rose into a raw scream. He hurled the glass bottle to the floor in destructive wrath, the rage calmed for mere moments by the satisfying sound of shattered glass.

Much to the consternation of the bartender, the shards of broken glass were scattered all over the floor. He pulled his wand out of his sleeve and swished it around over the mess, thereby magically repairing it. The corners of his mouth twitched. He badly wanted to throw the Malfoy out of his bar but could not afford the loss of money that would result from the loss of a customer, and Draco was very wealthy.

Draco panted in frustration as he asked for a firewhiskey next.

"You of age, kid?" the bartender asked gruffly, his moral values overpowering his hankering for money. "Ye can't have the firewhiskey if you ain't of age."

Draco turned icy eyes to the cowering bartender who was already regretting his decision. "Bloody hell," he swore, "_JUST GET ME A FIREWHISKEY_!" he bellowed, slamming his fist onto the table. The bartender shuffled away and passed him the bottle grudgingly, summoning bravery to give the blond a disapproving look. Draco bared his teeth in a brutal snarl – he had had _enough_ of disapproving looks.

"Right, right," the bartender muttered, backing away disgustedly. Draco tore his gaze away and tilted the bottle to his lips, guzzling down a quarter of it in one go. He didn't care how savage and plebeian he looked right then, firewhiskey dribbling down his chin and pouring down his throat. He didn't care how it burned his throat on the way down and how it seemed to set fire to his lungs. All he cared about was how it kept his mind off – off things he had no intention of thinking of.

After downing two more bottles, Draco was fully and absolutely drunk. Fingers still curled tightly around the neck of his glass bottle, he wandered drunkenly out of the Hog's Head after overturning a purse full of sickles into the bartender's greedy palm and meandered back to Hogwarts castle.

/\\//\\//\\//\\//\\//\\//\\//\\//\\//\\/

Frosty grey eyes brimmed with harsh tears – it had been a long time since his pale cheeks had felt the sting of the moist saline crystals. He gripped the bottle of firewhiskey tightly in a hand, his knuckles white with the effort. Dregs of the blazing drink swirled at the bottom of the bottle, the last droplets he hadn't consumed. He dragged himself down the rumbling stone steps of Hogwarts and slurred the password drunkenly at the Portrait Hole to Slytherin.

"Young man, are you _drunk_?" Sniped a painting that hung in the nearby corridor. There was a great rustle of whispering as the elegantly coiffed lady turned to gossip with her neighbour. "Are you _drunk_?" she repeated, staring open-mouthed at the boy. Draco kicked the Portrait open.

"_I DON'T CARE_!" he yelled over his shoulder as he disappeared into the Common Room, "_I DON'T NEED TO MAKE ANYONE HAPPY_!" And he thought about his father, the only person he had ever admired; he thought about Hermione, the only person he had ever loved. He thought about how the letter from his father would arrive in hours, a letter filled with remonstration and rebuke. He thought about how he would write his own letter…

He dug his fingers into the unyielding glass of the firewhiskey bottle while he tramped up the stairs and flung himself onto his bed, squeezing the body of the bottle as if taking his frustrations out on it would alleviate the hollow pain that echoed and screamed inside of him. The bottle exploded with a loud, eruptive sound, the jagged shards of glass embedding themselves deep into the flesh of his hands and arms, embedding themselves into the mattress.

The pain lashed like ribbons up and down and up and down his arms, but it stung, and it did not ache and moan like the pain that was deep inside him, so he took little notice, even relished in it, until his arms were numbed with the pain. When the stinging was numb, the heartache roared in him, and became a shield of cold bitterness that wrapped around him, inside his skin.

He groped around, blinded by his tears, for the largest shard of glass, slicing his fingers on the pieces strewn all over his bed, on the floor. His knees were cut, too, and dripping blood rhythmically onto the carpeted floor. He stared at his wrist for a while, the tears gone. The wrist was a Malfoy wrist – pale, flawless, delicate. There was a vein, blue and prominent in the network of veins, that wound up the wrist into the palm, blue, and it throbbed with life. _Life_.

Draco dragged the sharpest point along the vein, tracing the way it ran, slitting the skin and vein open. He gazed at the blood that seeped down the arm, and imagined it was blue, because the line of Malfoy was noble and untainted, and the blood was blue and pure. He was punishing himself, but he was curious, he watched his blood as it oozed down his wrist, and he knew with a throbbing finality that it wasn't blue. It was red. It was red like a dog's, red like a muggle's. In fact, he mused, tilting his head lazily, it was a muddy red. _Mudblood, mudblood, mudblood_.

He found a quill on the floor, fingered it to feel for the monogram it had been marked with. There was none, so it was probably Zabini's – besides, a Malfoy would never leave his things lying around on the floor in such a careless manner. It was ironic, he thought, that the last letter he would ever write would not even be written with his own quill. Maybe it was symbolic. Symbolic.

He stabbed the quill past the slit in his crimson-stained skin, withdrawing it with a hissed intake of breath. The nib was coated with his blood, and when he scratched it against his skin, he dared not look; he knew it would be red. He wrote his last letter in his customary script, it was elegant and flowing and very Malfoy. Penmanship lessons had started when he was four, and had proceeded with Draco tracing every last letter his ancestors had written to get the _Malfoy_ way of writing down pat. He wrote Malfoy words as lifeblood flowed out of his wrists, and was careful about not getting any more blood on the parchment than necessary. He wanted the words to be read, and crimson splotches, he was well aware, would hinder the process.

His lips were blue by the time he was tying the letter to the owl's leg. His hands shook, making it harder than normal, and he fumbled most irritatingly with the letter. There was no more anger in him now that the letter was done. He closed his eyes, threw the feathered, screeching owl out of the gap in his curtains, and clambered onto his bed. The protruding glass was easy to ignore, because he knew other things that were more important than his own pain. Idly he wondered when he had learnt that, and he wondered just _when_ Harry had learnt that, too. Earlier than Draco had, he knew.

_I love Hermione,_ he said. It was branded into his mind. _I love Hermione, I love Hermione, I love Hermione…_ it went on, over, and over, and over again. _I love Hermione, I love Hermione, I love Hermione._ And as it repeated endlessly in his head, he could feel the flow of blood trickling to a stop, and his magic struggled to support this life, this fragile, tiny, small life. So he knew he was about to die.

With his last breath and last heartbeats, he said it aloud, even though it was less than a whisper – "I love _you_, Hermione." There was no more blood, but the magic let the heart clench one last time: _thud-thump._ Then the magic, too, failed, and the boy died, beautiful and broken and bloodied.

/\\//\\//\\//\\//\\//\\//\\//\\//\\//\\/

Hermione sprawled out on her bed, fatigued from her day out with Harry. The pair had sneaked into Hogsmeade at Harry's devious suggestion to give Hermione time to recover from her emotionally draining confrontation with Draco.

An owl feather tickled her ear, causing her to sit up and look around. If an owl had been here, then logically, there was a letter for her somewhere. Triumphant, she pulled a faintly wrinkled piece of rolled-up parchment from her pillow. The script was familiar, and she had half a mind to chuck the unexpected letter into the wastebasket. Curiosity won out, and she let herself read the letter with an air of exaggerated reluctance. _It'd better be worth my time, Draco._

_Dear Hermione,_

_Early on in the school year, a few weeks after we had just become a couple, I made a drastic bet with some of my Slytherin peers. It had only been meant to be a joking gesture, but I realise now that I've always meant to carry it out. I bet that if I ever stopped loving you, I would kill myself. The truth is, I still love you. But you have another now to love, and soon I must stop loving you. I felt it would be best to get over with it before I had to face the fact that I had stopped loving you. Hermione, you literally are the love of my life. Without your love and without you, I have no life, not one worth living._

_A Malfoy is supposed to be assured and confident. I always was, until there was… you. Now I worry that if I turn away from what we started, I will always wish that I had tried. By breaking free like you have done, Hermione, you have left me broken-hearted. A Malfoy never cries, but I did tonight, and I know that I will not see your face when all my tears have dried. I will see it in my dreams, I will see your face beside mine in mirrors, but you will never show yourself to me again as you have done before._

_But my fears and pain will drain out of me like my blood will. If I do it now, then I will die loving you. I had always imagined that I would die with you by my side. Since I cannot have that, I will at least die loving you. This is the path that I alone have chosen._

_I have never told you this, but a pureblood family has its rules. There is a Malfoy rule that goes like this: _**If any Malfoy should fail to keep the bloodline of Malfoy untainted, then the Malfoy _must_ die, if only for the sake of blood purity.** _I put my father and myself before you, once, and look where it got me. I was unable even to marry you like I had wished, and still I am dying. I am dying._

_I forgive you, Hermione, if there is anything to forgive. I love you, Hermione, and I know you loved me once. I'm sorry that I ever put you second place. I know you don't take second place, but neither did my father. I love you, and I hope you will be happy with Harry, because you deserve the happiness and stability he can provide._

_Much love,_

_Draco Malfoy_

Hermione dropped the letter back onto her bed. Her eyes were wide and filled with horror. "Oh, no. _No_, Draco!"

/\\//\\//\\//\\//\\//\\//\\//\\//\\//\\/

Hermione burst into Professor McGonagall's office, her eyes wild, her hair unruly, her footsteps frantic.

"Ms Granger – what is the _meaning_ – "

"Professor, we – have – to… Slytherin dorms – Draco – I think Draco – I think Draco has done something to himself – something reckless – please, Professor – we have to help him!"

Professor McGonagall had seen the loving touches, the adoring gazes, and the romantic courtship. She had noticed the sudden, icy change the past day and she knew that Hermione – her star pupil – would not joke about something so severe.

"Pull yourself together, child – and come with me."

/\\//\\//\\//\\//\\//\\//\\//\\//\\//\\/

Hermione burst through the door to Draco's dormitory with Professor McGonagall on her heels, eliciting many befuddled stares. ("Professor? Uh… Granger?") The professor tore open the curtains that shrouded Draco's bed, gave a shriek of surprise, and barred Hermione's way.

"Professor, I have to see…" Hermione cried desperately. Professor McGonagall grabbed the girl's thin shoulders and wheeled her around, practically kicking her out of the room. "Ms Granger, summon Madam Pomfrey. _Now_." Hermione sped out of the dormitory with one last longing glance. She raced towards the Hospital Wing and threw herself through the doors, her cheeks ruddy, chest heaving.

"MADAM POMFREY!" she screamed. She didn't know how bad the situation was, thus she treated it as an emergency judging from the way Professor McGonagall had blanched and the sickly light in her eyes. "MADAM POMFREY!"

Madam Pomfrey bustled up to Hermione reprovingly. "Ms Granger, I would have expected better behaviour from a prefect of your standing. Our patients need peace and lots of rest!"

Hermione grabbed Madam Pomfrey by the arm. "We need you _now_, Madam Pomfrey, there's something wrong with Draco, _please_!"

Madam Pomfrey wrestled her arm out of the girl's clutch. "Certainly it isn't _that_ urgent?" she sighed.

"Madam Pomfrey, _believe me_, if it wasn't _that urgent_, I would not come screeching into your Hospital Wing yelling like a banshee. _Please come_, Draco could be dying!" Hermione tried to control herself, tried to stop her voice from wobbling, but she knew Draco's life could be draining away and Madam Pomfrey didn't seem to care.

"I will come," Madam Pomfrey placed a comforting hand on Hermione's shoulder. "Where is the boy?"

/\\//\\//\\//\\//\\//\\//\\//\\//\\//\\/

Madam Pomfrey leant over Draco Malfoy, her eyebrows knitted in a strange sort of grief. The boy had always been rude, arrogant, and hardly charming, but he was just a boy, and the manner of his death had been exceedingly disturbing.

Hermione fussed and hovered beside Madam Pomfrey. It seemed as if the flow of tears would never end, and there was a constant twinge in her heart. She saw the body lolled on the bed, the puddles of congealing blood, the gashes down his wrists, the cuts that laced up and down his arms and across his knees.

Madam Pomfrey placed two fingers on the left side of his neck, beside his voice box. Her fingertips felt numb as she felt for the boy's life force pumping through his veins. She retrieved her wand, cast a spell, and found the same readings over and over again.

"He's dead."

_He's dead, he's dead, he's dead…_

"He's dead," Hermione whispered. Then she realised the severity of what she had said. The twinge in her heart tightened to a suffocating, wretched guilt, mingled with sorrow. "_No_! He CAN'T be dead, he _CAN'T BE DEAD_!" she bawled, stumbling towards the bed. "DRACO, DRACO, DRACO!"

She took a few weaving steps, tripped over her feet, and collapsed onto the floor, sobbing hysterically.

Harry appeared at the door, sweat trickling down his forehead. He had been looking all over the school for Hermione. "Professor – what…" he started, but seeing Hermione's prone form on the floor, he made for her instead.

"Hermione, Hermione, _shh_… The Portrait Hole was left open. I went to see you in the dormitory but you weren't there. I saw the letter on your bed and guessed where you would be. I'm sorry, Hermione… I'm so sorry."

Hermione hiccoughed and sat up, supported by Harry's strong arms. "He's _dead_, Harry. He's _dead_." Her eyes were hollow as she stared unseeingly at him.

Harry held her, trying to be strong for her but having nothing to say. He rubbed her back soothingly with one hand and used the other to wipe the tears away. He comforted her with hushing noises and murmurs.

"It's _not_ going to be okay, Harry," Hermione sobbed, "the last thing I told him was that I don't take second place. _I don't take second place_. For Merlin's sake, Harry, I was such a fool. I could have done it in a nicer way but I – I just… And I didn't know how he was struggling… I can't even _apologise_, Harry, he's _GONE_!"

"Hermione, he loves you. Love means forgiving. If that's not enough, he said it himself, Hermione, he doesn't only love you, he's forgiven you. _Shh_… He wants you to be happy, Hermione. He's forgiven you."

Hermione continued to cry but the flood of tears ebbed as Harry helped her to her feet and led her back to the Gryffindor Common Room. By the time they were making their way to Hermione's bed (with the help of a handy levitation spell for Harry), the sobs had decreased to mournful sniffles.

"Thanks for being there for me, Harry. Somehow, you always know the right things to say. I love you," Hermione sniffed and gave Harry a quick peck on the cheek. "I really need some time to sleep, please. I'm exhausted."

Harry snatched Draco's letter off the bed and laid it on her bedside table. He helped her pull the sheets back and patted them down when she got in.

"My little housewife," Hermione teased, and that was how Harry knew she was going to be okay.

"Get a good rest. I'll be here for you when you wake up."

Hermione slipped easily into a deep sleep, safe with the knowledge that the boy she once loved had forgiven her, and the boy she now loved was watching over her.

/\\//\\//\\//\\//\\//\\//\\//\\//\\//\\/

The next day was Draco's funeral. All the staff and students of Hogwarts attended to mourn the death of the changed Malfoy – Draco. He had changed since he had been together with Hermione, changed into someone everybody could respect and admire.

The Slytherins sat at the back, some of them trying to repress sobs. Several shot dirty looks at Hermione every once in a while. It was painfully obvious that they blamed her for Draco's death. Harry and Hermione sat in front, while Harry restrained her from look behind her and catching all the glowers that were being sent her way. He knew it would add to her distress.

As the Headmistress, Professor McGonagall stood at a makeshift podium, clearing her throat to begin her eulogy. "Draco Malfoy was famous – or should I say infamous – in this school as a commendable and esteemed prefect. He was good-hearted and it was a devastating blow when he passed away. The fault does not lie on one person alone. In fact, it lies on generations of prejudice and generations of children being taught the wrong thing. Draco Malfoy has set an example of how a youth can be torn apart by two sides who cannot see eye to eye. All we can do is to know that he will be happier where he is now than he was on Earth."

Hermione cried silently, tears filling her eyes and rolling down her cheeks even as she tried to blink them away. Harry hugged her close to him comfortingly, her tears soaking into his robes, as different faces stood at the podium and told the crowd about a boy they knew, a boy named Draco Malfoy.

/\\//\\//\\//\\//\\//\\//\\//\\//\\//\\/

_I don't take second place, I don't take second place, I don't take second place, I don't take second place._

Hermione, at first, never forgave herself for saying those words to Draco. Because of them, he had killed himself. However, she knew that he had forgiven her, and that put her heart at rest. He was happy for her and Harry. But she knew that it just was not the same without him, even though she loved Harry dearly. Draco had been her first love, and he had taught her to see goodness in everyone. She would miss Draco him dearly.

The severity or even a simple sentence was incomprehensible and it was something that she would never forget.

"Goodbye, Draco and thank you," she whispered. The sentence would forever be stamped into her thoughts, but she did not have to suffer under it. She would only take it as a lesson, one that was particularly painful – one that cost Draco Malfoy his life.

_I don't take second place, I don't take second place, I don't take second place, I don't take second place._

/\\//\\//\\//\\//\\//\\//\\//\\//\\//\\/


End file.
